


Tales of The Golden Avenger: Return of the Red Skull

by runningondreams



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Fusion, Angst, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, Imprisonment, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Steve is Force sensitive, Tony and Rhodey are former Mandolorians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-01 16:11:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17247323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runningondreams/pseuds/runningondreams
Summary: It’s been over a year since Tony left the Rebel Alliance, but when the Wasp calls in a favor, he feels bound to answer. Even though there’s an active bounty on his head. Even though the last time he confronted a real, Force-empowered Sith he lost his right hand. He can deal with all of that.Jan failed to mention that the mission involved Steve.





	Tales of The Golden Avenger: Return of the Red Skull

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cap iron man community](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=cap+iron+man+community).



> For the Cap-Iron Man Holiday Exchange community gift prompts: “A fusion with Star Wars (original trilogy era). Tony is a hotshot smuggler and droid expert, Steve is a rebel leader who needs his help” And “Steve and Tony are trapped in a cell for a long time during a mission, this leads to confessions.”
> 
> Many thanks to laireshi for the beta!
> 
> * * *

Port Nowhere is like most places Tony’s been in Hutt space: dim, despite the neon lights, loud with recorded hits from the core, all of them at least two years old, and packed with enough scanning sensors and recording equipment to make his cyber-hand twitch and the implants behind his ears tingle. P.E.P.P.E.R. whispers statistics at him as he makes his way to the lounge. 134 lifeforms, brushing shoulders and crowding together and tripping each other up. 115 sentients, flirting and dancing and getting into arguments. 200 small arms blasters. 75 weapons that could be classified as rifles or shotguns. 15 grenade launchers. 22 protocol droids. 12 astromechs. 1,037 cybernetic enhancements. Six open exits. Four possible maintenance hatches. And every single being has something to hide or a fight to pick or both.

He hasn’t missed the atmosphere, but this is where Jan wants to meet, so he’s here. One last favor called in, one last stop before he and Rhodey can get off this hunk of space junk and lie low for a while, until the bounties stop being so highly profiled.

Jan is sitting at the bar, drink in hand. Tony heads her way, looking over the crowd with his eyes as well as his tech.

And there, behind Jan, sitting in a hologame table booth, of all the people in the galaxy, is Steve.

“What’s this?”

He doesn’t even bother to greet Jan, because this is definitely something she should’ve mentioned. Something she would have mentioned, he’s quite certain, if this was the friendly meeting she’d implied.

“This is the favor I’m asking you.” Jan doesn’t even look up from her drink, though how much of that is misdirection for possibly watching eyes, he can’t tell.

“My favor is to you, Jan. Not him.” He keeps his eyes on her, making himself notice the weave in the yellow silk of her blouse and the glittery stones embedded in her jacket. He will not be the one causing a scene here.

“And I’m cashing it in. Helping him helps me. Helps _all of us_.” Tony can feel his face twitch at the reference. This isn’t the time or the place to hash out all the ways he’s not part of the Rebel Alliance anymore. “Go on, go talk to him.” She makes a show of smiling up at him, eyelashes lowered flirtatiously. Tony’s almost certain her eyeshadow is disguising an audio recording film.

“He’s not exactly my biggest fan, you might have noticed.” Another patron, a zabrak, shifts uneasily at the other end of the bar and Tony forces his stance into something looser. Less combative. He keeps his voice low. “I think you saw enough of our last argument. I got punched.” And yelled at, and berated, and effectively exiled from everything he’d been building for five years. Jan knows all that too.

“He still knows you’re the best pilot with the best ship on this side of the Hydian Way. And it’s a good cause.” She leans close and presses a code into his wrist communicator. “Besides,” she murmurs, “you two can work well together when you want to. Find me upstairs when you’re done.”

And she picks up her drink and glides away, disappearing into the crowd in seconds.

Tony lets himself look at the booth.

Steve hasn’t changed much. He’s sitting mostly in shadow, only the lightness of his hair really showing up for distinctive features at a casual glance. He maybe has a new haircut. New clothes, a darker palette than his usual blues and a different cut. But he still has that set to his jaw, like he thinks he can shake the galaxy into order by pure stubbornness alone. 

He doesn’t look at Tony, all his concentration apparently trained on the Dejarik game he’s playing against the board AI. He’s winning, because of course he is. Whether it’s his strategic mind or a Force sensitive’s luck, Steve always seems to win. Maybe if he lost once in a while they wouldn’t argue so much.

He doesn’t look up until Tony slides into the booth, slipping through its quietly humming scrambling field.

Up close, Steve is unfairly attractive. Unfair, because Tony really doesn’t need that complication in his life again. The jacket frames his shoulder and neck in a way that makes Tony want to reach out and run his fingers from Steve’s ear to clavicle. His eyes are just a blue as Tony remembers. 

His expression is entirely neutral, an observant, tracking sort of look Tony used to associate with deep thoughts and long-term strategies.

Tony doesn’t think about the last time he saw those eyes, the anger and fear in them as Steve swung at him. Doesn’t think of the way they used to soften, looking at him, or the warm, electric glow of them in his favorite memory, in their bed with real dawnlight streaming through the real, planet-bound window. He _doesn’t think about it_. He activates his own scrambling field, instead. P.E.P.P.E.R. will warn him if anyone tries to hack through.

“Cap.”

“Iron Man.” Steve smiles slightly. Too genuine for this place and time. “It’s Nomad, these days. The Republic forces and I don’t have much common ground lately.”

Tony sets that aside to think on later. He flashes a practiced grin, because that’s all he can manage. He’s pretty sure that’s disappointment he’s seeing in Steve’s face now. Well, too bad.

“Jan says you have a job.”

Steve resets the board and offers Tony the first move. He doesn’t speak again until Tony’s made it.

“You look good,” he says, “Better.” Tony has no idea what to say to that so he says nothing. He’s not playing his best Dejarik game, either. It’s taking too much effort to not spend every second trying to track the changes in Steve’s face over the past year. The new lines around his eyes, and the new, not-quite-natural set to his shoulders. An injury maybe, or an implant. Maybe a new harness for the shield.

“Thanks for meeting with me,” Steve says.

“Didn’t know I was until I got here.” Steve looks a bit pained at that, but Tony can’t stop himself now. “Really, I’m surprised. Given our last communication, I didn’t think you’d want a meeting like this.”

He holds Steve’s gaze. There’s an answer in there somewhere, he knows there is.

Steve looks away.

“I need your help.”

“Yeah, I gathered that—”

“Moff Schmidt is back.” Steve says it like the statement physically pains him. Maybe it does. He’d been so certain the Red Skull was gone forever.

“Can’t keep a bad Sith down,” Tony mutters under his breath.

“He commands _The Crusader_. He’s been razing the Ando system. Firing on settlements, bombing factories and fields. I’m going to stop him.”

“And you have a plan,” Tony notes, making another less-than-stellar move. Steve takes his Savrip. “A plan that involves _me_.”

“I need to catch up and get aboard undetected.” _And you have the best stealth tech around_ , Steve doesn’t say. They both know it.

“That’s a tall order.”

“I know. I also know you can do it.”

“Sure. I _can_. But why should I? I’ve got other people depending on me these days, _Nomad_. You’re not the only one going around saving settlements and rescuing refugees.” The recent blockade run, Steve has to know about that. And the theft of medical supplies from that Imperial warship. Both of those are on Tony’s public record, even if a lot of other things aren’t.

Steve’s lips press into a thin line. He stares at the board between them, his eyes going out of focus. And Tony thinks: _All you have to do is ask. All you have to do is actually ask me, Steve. I’d do it. If you just asked me to in full words. If you said ‘Tony, would you—’_

“He has a holocron,” Steve says.

Tony sits up straight, all pretense of casual boredom forgotten.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” Steve nods. Tony believes him.

A _holocron_. Thousands of years of information in a box only slightly larger than a human heart. Ancient, completely irreplaceable technology that never degrades and never corrupts. Tech that no one in galactic history has been able to reproduce in millennia.

“Do you know what’s on it?”

“No. There are a lot of Sith rituals that require death or suffering on the scales he’s generating, and he seems to have some new powers. But if it was pure Sith mysticism, we both know he wouldn’t be able to use it at all.”

A holocron.

“Can I assume you’re interested now?”

Tony does his best to ignore the note of derision. It doesn’t matter. Steve’s opinion of him doesn’t matter. Not anymore. Whether or not the wired-up Imperial spy two tables over has twigged to either of their real identities is a much more pressing issue.

“Docking bay H90, fifth quadrant,” Tony tells Steve. It’s misdirection, but a code they’re both familiar with. “You know the passcode. Just don’t be surprised if War Machine keeps you in the brig until I show up.”

He picks up his scrambler and slides out of the booth, effectively cutting off any further questions Steve might have. The spy doesn’t move, but after a few steps Tony does have a shadow. Twi-lek female, posing as one of the dancers but the costume isn't quite right and the scan P.E.P.P.E.R. gives him reveals a high-grade sonic incapacitator and a set of the top-end cuffs bounty hunters use. He takes two flights of stairs at a quick jog, ducks through a sabaac parlor and what looks like a wedding party and jumps the balcony to the upper dance area. Further scans reveal her searching fruitlessly a floor and two rooms away.

He taps his chest and activates the first level hologram protocol, just to be safe. It’s not a big change, but it’s enough to confuse a quick glance. Then he activates the code Jan punched in his comm and sets out to find her in the press of dancing bodies.

She’s near the center of the crowd, of course, and while she quirks an eyebrow at his disguise, she doesn’t hesitate to hold out her hand and let him spin her closer.

“So?” she asks.

“After this we’re even,” Tony tells her. He spins her out again and pulls her back in. “No more favors. Any other jobs you present me on their own merits.”

Jan smiles. “I can live with that.”

“Also, I had a hunter on me, so keep your eyes sharp,” he warns.

“I always do,” she says. “Take care of yourself. And take care of _him_ , too.”

And then the air around her flickers, reflections and projections melding together until he can only see her as a suggestion of movement, a tiny spark of glitter: now here, now there.

“See you around, Iron Man,” he hears, whispered close to his ear, and then she’s gone.

***

He waits another twenty minutes, making sure the hunter didn’t throw up any new alerts and sending messages to Rhodey. Carrying a Force user, especially one who’s been as active and visible as Steve, merits some extra precautions even if they weren’t planning to go directly against a Sith. He checks cameras and exits to be certain no one followed Steve or Jan, either, and then he returns to his ship by the most indirect route he can plot.

Steve is waiting in the hanger when he gets there. He’s just standing there, staring up at the ship with a small bag at his feet. Tony approaches somewhat cautiously. He’d expected to have Rhodey and the AIs available onboard to run interference if necessary, not another one-on-one chat.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” Steve shakes his head, something Tony can’t quite read in his expression. “No, I just . . . didn’t realize you still had the same ship.”

Tony looks up at her. _The Golden Avenger_ has seen better days, but she doesn’t show it too much. There’s some cosmetic blaster fire he hasn’t had a chance to buff out yet, and new guns and new boosters, but she’s mostly the same old ship she always was, just updated. Much like Tony himself.

“Your passcode still works too.”

Steve’s brow furrows.

“That’s a huge security risk.”

“Only if you tell someone.” And Steve never will. Tony has literally never worried about it.

Steve’s got a look that Tony just knows will lead to an argument, so he steps away and starts jogging for the loading ramp. They might as well try to start out as smoothly as they can. After a few steps, he can hear Steve break into a jog behind him. It doesn’t take him long to catch up. It never has.

Rhodey’s waiting on the other side of the airlock, fully kitted out in his armor and weapons raised. He doesn’t lower his blasters until all outside access is closed and locked and Tony gives him a nod.

The silence stretches. Tony is very suddenly aware of the fact that there will be no more than a few feet of metal and plastic and air and maybe a maximum of a hundred meters of walking distance between him and Steve for the next several days. Over a week and a half, counting all the travel time ahead of them. It’s somewhat paralyzing knowledge. Rhodey and Steve don’t look any more prepared than he is. F.R.I.D.A.Y. speaks before any of them can figure out what to say.

“Welcome back, Iron Man,” she says. “Departure preparations will be complete in 4.57 minutes.”

Right. Moving on. Things to do. People to help.

“Thanks,” he says. “I’ll be up in a few.” He turns to Steve, feeling like some sort of introduction is appropriate even though they’re all very well acquainted already. It’s a new day. A new journey.

He fumbles for words.

“Welcome to Burnout. Formerly of Phoenix Cell, as you know, now just trying to scrape by and keep our heads down.”

“Because the Empire wants them,” Rhodey adds, “and we’re kind of attached.”

Steve nods. “The bounties were pretty impressive.” Tony can’t tell, looking at him, if that’s supposed to be an insult or a compliment or just a statement. He really, really needs to stop overthinking every twitch Steve’s face makes, or he’s never going to get anything done. He can _feel_ the look Rhodey’s giving him behind the helmet.

“We actually try to avoid gathering that much attention,” he manages to say, “but sometimes we’re just unlucky. But I should get up to navigation. I’m sure you remember where everything is.”

“Anywhere in particular I should bunk?”

Like that’s not a loaded question, with their history.

“What you see is what you get. Not a lot of crew these days. Your old bunk off the training room is still open.”

Steve nods again. “Thank you.”

Tony watches him leave, striding confidently off into the depths of the ship. Rhodey steps closer, bringing the two of them shoulder to shoulder.

“You sure about this?”

“Not really.” Tony catches himself rubbing his right hand, counting metal joints. He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. “But if Schmidt really does have some ancient tech, I can think of better places to use it. And it’s not as though we can afford to lose more garden worlds.”

“I meant Steve, here on the ship,” Rhodey says. “And the whole—thing—you have with him.” He waves one arm in a surprisingly succinct gesture.

“I know,” Tony admits.

“And?”

“And—I should really get to navigation,” Tony says. He doesn’t have anything to say that Rhodey hasn’t already heard. It’s history. It’s _over_.

That’s the only part that matters.

***

They make it several days without a blow-up, which is more than Tony expected. Steve doesn’t even stay in his bunk or the training room the whole time; he eats meals with them, and joins their sabaac rounds, and makes light conversation. It’s nice, having him around. And distracting. Because ending things between them wasn’t really Tony’s choice, was it? And that apparently means that actual proximity to Steve sees a substantial uptick in the number of times Tony zones out during hyperjumps, thinking about things like lips and hands, and, perhaps more damning, the quiet space they used to have between them. The easy silence and comfort without words. The bone-deep knowledge that they had each other’s backs.

On the fourth night, lying in his bunk in the crew quarters while Rhodey reads a novel on the other side of the room, he catches himself thinking aloud that it’s irritating, really, how much he still _likes_ Steve. That Steve is still funny and handsome and thoughtful now, after their fight and a year of icy silence. That he’s making an effort to be likeable.

Rhodey makes a noise like maybe he’s not really listening, which is fine because Tony’s not actually sure he wants to talk about it. But then Rhodey says, “He doesn’t seem to be holding that trust thing against you, that’s for sure.”

And that still hurts. Ow. Like a punch to the face, ha, ha. Tony pokes the memory again, like a bruise. But a bruise he earned. He _had_ hidden things.

It still hurts. Tony throws his arm across his eyes like that can block out memories as well as light. It’s probably pointless to pretend he’s not still carrying a torch. Steve could figure out that much even without however it is Force powers work into such things. He still wants whatever Steve’s willing to give him. He still wants more than that, even knowing nothing’s really changed and they’ll just end up back here, because they always do.

“I’m screwed, aren’t I.”

Rhodey actually laughs at him.

“Not yet you’re not. Though if you two start sharing blankets again I’ll thank you to keep it out of this bunkroom and the armory. I need some sort of privacy.”

The idea is tempting. Picking up where they left off, as if the yelling and the anger never happened. A do-over, and maybe they’d both be better this time.

As if that were possible. Tony sighs and lets it go.

“Nothing’s going to happen except me making an idiot of myself. And then we’ll finish this mission and he’ll say, ‘So long, Tony. Don’t bother to write.’ I’m screwed.”

“It could be worse.”

“How.”

“Saving civilians, striking a blow against the Empire, recovering ancient technology. At least we’ll be doing something more than milk runs.”

“Yeah,” Tony sighs again. “I guess.”

It will be good to do something a little bigger again. Take on the Empire head-to-head instead of slipping through shadows. Satisfying. And maybe this is still an opportunity. Maybe he could … rebuild something here. Not what they had, but something. Some measure of the trust they lost. Maybe.

He can at least _try_.

He starts with breakfast. It’s not really cooking, but he knows there are some rations Steve prefers to others, and he makes sure those are closer to the front of the cabinets. He turns up the ships’ thermostat, despite the extra fuel cost, because he knows Steve gets cold easily. He spends more time in the common areas and tries to make conversation. Easy, non-threatening topics. Better ways to use their food supplies for more interesting meals; Dejarik strategies; ship improvements; stories they’ve picked up in their time apart. Twice, he sees Steve bite back remarks that might lead to a fight. And that’s good, right? They’re both trying. They even spar once, with Rhodey acting as referee. It feels good. Like maybe they’re figuring things out again.

Still, when Steve drops into the armory on the ninth day and makes a show of inspecting the general stores, Tony has to mentally brace himself a bit. They both know Steve never uses any weapon but his shield. This is Steve seeking him out. It could be very good, or very, very bad.

He does his best to focus on last-minute adjustments to the gauntlets, prepping new firing algorithms for breaking through the latest Imperial shield arrays. That proves impossible when Steve looms over him.

“You’ve modified the armor,” he says. He has his head cocked to the side, like he’s not sure he approves of the change or not. Some days, Tony’s not sure about that himself. A lot of the changes have more to do with current Mando fashions than his own designs. It’s hard to be a beacon of peace and freedom when you look like a shock trooper, but needs must.

“The sectors I run in these days, it’s good to be mistaken for a real Mandalorian.”

Steve frowns.

“You are a real Mandalorian.”

For a split second, Tony hears the words in echo, the years stripping away to a time when they were both younger, and bolder, and more hopeful and probably happier too. Steve reassuring him he’d done the right thing, leaving his clan after their civil war. His certainty they’d all come around eventually.

He shakes the memory away.

“They don’t think so,” he says. “Serving the Empire is looking like a pretty long-term gig at this point.”

 _Drop it_ , he thinks, staring down at his work. _Please just leave it there, you know how this goes_.

There’s a weighty pause, but miraculously, Steve doesn’t argue further. He sits next to Tony, not quite close enough to touch, and keeps his silence. When Tony looks up he’s staring at the helmet—painted black now, instead of red, but still with the gold over the face. Steve reaches out and touches it. Presses his palm to the polished dome, like a benediction.

He opens his mouth like he’s going to speak, then closes it again. Tony feels frozen, like time is crystalizing around him, around this moment, too close and too intense.

“I need to sleep,” he says, sudden and too-loud in his own ears. “We’re arriving in the Lambda sector in twelve hours.”

“I know.” Steve looks down at the helmet again, then back at Tony’s face. “I was actually going to ask if I could join you in navigation. I think I might be able to help figure out where Schmidt will go next.”

“Sure.” The word is out of his mouth before Tony thinks.

Steve smiles. He nods, clearly satisfied.

“Then I’ll see you in a few hours,” he says.

“Right.” Very eloquent, Tony. Well done.

Steve smiles wider.

“Get some rest, Shellhead. Or should I escort you to make sure you actually get to your bunk?”

“No, I can . . .” Tony stands and gathers up the armor pieces. By the time he has the suit reassembled and locked down, Steve is gone. To bed, probably, or to meditate or whatever it is he does these days.

Tony really should sleep, but . . . Shellhead? Had he really heard that? And the gentle way Steve had touched the helmet. What was that supposed to mean?

No. He has too much to do in the next few hours. He can’t waste time trying to understand Steve now. There’s Rhodey’s armor to double-check too, and the ship’s shields and sensor arrays and the stealth drive’s integrity.

And sleep, he reminds himself. There’s every chance they’ll be confronting a Force-empowered Moff in the next thirty-six hours. He needs rest.

Whatever’s going on with Steve will have to wait.

***

They come out of hyperspace onto a scene of devastation. Ando Prime has visible craters from orbital bombardment, and there are still fires burning that are big enough to show up on the ship’s sensors, several kilometers out of orbit range. It’s not the worst damage Tony’s seen the Empire do to a planet, but it’s close.

In the space between _The Golden Avenger_ and the planet, thousands of ships swarm. Freighters, shuttles, transport liners, practically every type of civilian spacecraft Tony’s ever seen is fleeing the planet. It’s not enough to be the whole population, but it still hundreds of thousands of people, at a guess. And around them, closing in from every side, are Imperial forces. TIE fighters and Droid fighters both, harrying at the edges of the crowd and lining up in battle formations, staying close enough to block easy hyperspace jumps.

“Holy hell,” Rhodey says from his gunnery station. His voice is tinny over the ship’s intercom.

Steve leans over Tony’s shoulder, like being closer to the viewscreen will help him make better sense of things. There’s no sign of _The Crusader_. Tony starts pulling up sensors, looking for radiation trails and heat signatures and Imperial comm buoys he could maybe hack into. Maybe they’ll have time for a distraction. Draw a few fighters away with a new distress call. Something.

“The Force giving you any clues on Schmidt?” he asks.

Steve shakes his head. “Forget about Schmidt,” he says, and there’s the anger. A small part of Tony had been starting to wonder if he’d picked up some clone of the man or a convincing simulacrum, but not now. Righteousness bleeding out of every pore. It’s definitely Steve, pointing one finger at the viewscreen like Tony can’t see the tragedy unfolding before them. “They need our help.”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, “They definitely need help, and we can definitely do something, but I’m trying to multitask here.”

Steve glares at him. “Tony!”

“What?” Tony glares back. “If we fly in shooting, we have to drop the stealth shield.” He gestures expansively. “If we do that, we _will_ get caught. Not an if. We will. And then we’ll have to dodge a bunch of fighters and maybe bluff our way through a security checkpoint and we will entirely lose the element of surprise. Which, if I can remind you, was the whole reason you picked _me_ for this mission. We might not make it to the Red Skull at all.”

Steve crosses his arms. Sets his shoulders.

“Tony.”

“I’m just saying, there’s a trade-off here.”

“We’re helping them.”

“Fine.” He punches up the target array and sends the whole datastream to the gunnery interface. “Rhodey, we’re going in.”

“Gotcha.”

“You.” Tony points at Steve. “You want this, you’re piloting.”

“And what will you be doing?” Steve asks, like he thinks Tony’s running away or pitching a hissy fit or some other nonsense. Whatever tenuous friendship they’ve built back up, whatever softness Steve displayed last night, it must not mean much if all it takes to tank his opinion is a moment’s hesitation in shifting priorities.

“I’m going to make sure the proximity mines are calibrated correctly so we don’t _murder any civilians_.” It takes a lot of control to not yell in Steve’s face. Tony’s jaw is starting to hurt. “That okay by you?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, already striding out of the room. He should’ve known. They only ever manage to make things work in theory.

It doesn’t matter. Focus.

The mines are simple things, but if he can drop enough of them in the main blockade cluster he might be able to make a hole for the fleeing ships to exit through. And then there’s the large-scale scramblers, spreading chaos through the ranks and making regular fighter formation flying impossible. Rhodey’s a good enough shot to set up a cat and mouse game. Once they’re following, he can take out any ship that gets close. Tony just has to make sure they make a big enough splash to attract the majority of the Imperial forces.

Which is fine. He’s _good_ at making himself the bigger target.

P.E.P.P.E.R. keeps him linked to the main data readouts. The ship’s first few passes generate enough confusion that a handful of civilian vessels squeeze by. The mines and Rhodey’s shooting draw enough fire to let even a few of the larger vessels make the jump. Tony watches the shield strength dip lower and lower as they come under more fire. By the time _The Golden Avenger_ has spent two-thirds of her ammunition they’re sitting at twenty-seven percent. He dumps the scramblers into a series of missile bays and runs back up to navigation.

“Get ready to jump,” he tells Steve.

“Where?”

Tony scans the emissions readouts, the comm traffic. There. Two quadrants over. Ando. A Waterworld. Fisheries and algae farms and fresh water distillation. Salt and rare metals mining. A perfect target, if you want to destroy supply lines. And the inhabitants have always resented Imperial rule.

“Here.” He punches in the coordinates. “Rhodey, we’re drawing up a barrel.”

“On it.”

“You remember how to do this?” he asks Steve.

“Of course.” Steve sends the ship into a series of turns and swoops and rolls. Slowly, the attacking ships spiral inward. Drawing closer.

The shield strength ticks lower. Twenty percent. Fifteen.

“Releasing scramblers in five.” Tony lets his hands hover over the controls. “Four. Three.” The outer pursuits ships dive in, completing the pattern. “Two.” P.E.P.P.E.R. murmurs at him. The last of the civilian ships flee to hyperspace. “One.” He presses the release.

The viewscreen flickers, then shorts and goes dark. The ship’s lights flicker and dim. The back-up generator kicks in almost immediately, and as soon as he can see clearly Steve makes the jump.

A few seconds in Hyperspace. Hardly enough for Tony to take a few breaths. The stars come back into focus and the blue shine of Ando fills the viewscreen.

The shield is at eight percent. Ammunition at fifteen percent.

They’re not alone.

“We’re being followed,” Steve notes.

“I can see that.” There are five TIE fighters swooping around on the HUD and two have already managed to scan and mark them.

“Seven,” Steve says. “Two more ahead of us, and a Star Destroyer, on the other side of both moons. And the Red Skull is nearby.”

 _Shit_. The extra ships don’t show up on the sensors, but Steve’s always been accurate about these things. Tony has no reason to doubt him.

“Rhodey, I need you up here!”

“Gotcha.”

“What are you doing?” Steve asks.

“Implementing plan theta.”

As soon as Rhodey’s slid into the co-pilot seat Tony runs to the tertiary fuses panel, flipping switches and punching in passcodes as fast as he can.

He faintly registers Steve’s jerk of surprise as several displays flip over and the galaxy map holo shifts to an entirely different cluster, but he’s already moving on, heading for the crew rec room.

“What’s plan theta?” Steve asks, jogging in his wake.

“Subterfuge number eight.” Tony pulls up a floor panel and drags a small case out of the space beneath. “Rhodey and I put on our armor and do our best proper Mando impressions for whatever self-important Imperial comes aboard.” He holds up one of the pairs of cuffs that make up the case’s contents. “You play prisoner. Put these on.”

Steve goes stiff-shouldered. His jaw sets.

“What?” It’s more demand than question.

“A Star Destroyer’s gravity wells are more than we can handle right now, and if there’s a Force user among them, we can’t hide you.” _And we know there’s a Force user because Schmidt is out there_ , he doesn’t add. If Steve can feel his old enemy’s presence already, there’s no point rubbing it in.

“And that means you need to lock me up? I can’t be a . . . a companion or a mechanic or something?”

“If we were in Hutt space? Sure. Not out here. Because you can use the Force and that means any Imperial officer will have no problem shooting you on sight if he knows and then we’ll all die. If you’re a prisoner you have value, okay? Now please put on the cuffs. I’ll disable the Force suppression but I _need_ you to wear them.”

Steve still looks mulish. The ship shudders as they take blaster fire. Tony tries again.

“I need you to trust me on this, Steve. Please. I know what I’m doing.”

“We’ve been hailed by _The Crusader_ ,” Rhodey says over the ship’s intercom. “Boarding party ETA, ten minutes or less.”

Steve holds out his hands. He doesn’t look happy, but he does it.

“Thank you,” Tony says.

Steve glares straight through him and doesn’t reply.

It only takes a moment to cuff both Steve’s hands behind his back. It’s another handful of moments to open up the control panel, remove the kyber crystal that powers the Force suppression circuits and connect the secondary battery to make the active light turn on anyway. Tony keeps up a constant stream of chatter, telling Steve what he’s doing and why, like that’ll somehow make this better. Steve doesn’t say anything.

Rhodey comes in in full armor just has he gets the display to show up properly again. He nods at Tony.

“You get your armor. We’ll meet you in the cargo hold.”

“This better be worth it,” Steve mutters.

“It will be,” Tony promises. “We’ll make this work.”

He makes sure to grab Steve’s shield and a miniature stealth field on the way. Just in case.

***

The boarding party is larger than Tony expected. Six stormtroopers accompany the expected officer: a young human man with dark, slicked-back hair and the stiff-shouldered bearing Tony’s only ever seen in the Empire’s volunteers. A Lieutenant, possibly recently promoted. He looks around the cargo bay with the intent gaze of someone new to their role. Too eager to take in all the details. Too quick to really see what’s there. But still so sure he knows what’s going on.

The more dangerous sort of officer, in Tony’s experience. A more senior being would focus on the people in front of him and let their men do the surveillance. Someone more experienced could be relied upon to respect their own chain of command, and a Mandalorians’ place in it. With just a few moments of observation, Tony’s confident in concluding that this man has respect for no one.

“Explain your presence in this quadrant,” the Lieutenant barks.

“Prisoner transport.” Tony doesn’t bother to gesture at Steve. Even the statement is going to draw more attention than he wants. “Special delivery to Moff Schmidt on _The Crusader_.”

He keeps his eyes on the Lieutenant’s face. Watches him scowl. Doesn’t so much as twitch when one of the stormtroopers knocks over a prototype sparring droid.

“Moff Schmidt is not expecting and special deliveries. Protocol dictates a minimum five day’s warning for such circumstances.” The Lieuenant says it with a note of relish in his voice. Like he’s caught them out already.

“Yes sir, unusual circumstances sir. We caught him sabotaging operations inside the sector. Initial scans indicated a high priority alert.”

“Hm.” The officer stares down at Steve. P.E.P.P.E.R. murmurs in Tony’s ear as the man runs his own scan. It’s subtle enough that no one not also a cyborg would probably pick up on it, but it’s there. Another clue is the sudden widening of the man’s eyes when he realizes exactly who Steve is.

“Soldier, this prisoner is a level nine security risk. You will surrender custody immediately to me and _The Crusader_. I can personally guarantee your bounty will be delivered as soon as possible.”

 _No_. They can’t take that risk. Too many variables. He won’t let Steve go into a Sith’s lair alone and in chains. Not ever.

“No, sir.”

The Lieutenant stares, his green eyes wide with surprise.

“Excuse me?”

“We will deliver the prisoners ourselves,” Tony insists. “Our honor demands it.” It’s a bluff, but a good one. Mandalorian honor is legendary.

The Lieutenant scowls.

“Indeed not. You will respect the chain of command and surrender the prisoner to me. Now.”

“Respectfully, sir,” Rhodey speaks up, “We answer to Mandalore and our clan leaders only. We are allies, not subordinates. As I’m certain Moff Schmidt himself would be happy to confirm for you.”

Another bluff. If the man actually calls Schmidt, they’re out of options. Either they start the fight early, here, risking their own ship and giving the Sith time to prepare, or they all get dragged in as prisoners together.

The officer’s communicator beeps, priority lights blinking rapidly. He turns away to answer it.

“Sir, I can report—sir. Yes, sir. Of course sir. Right away.”

Tony holds his breath.

“Change of plan,” the man says, and Tony’s heart sinks. Whatever this is, it’s not going to engender Steve’s trust. “Subsequent scans of your ship indicate multiple layers of conflicting identification data. We’ve also traced your last recorded coordinates to the scene of a recent battle between a freighter this size and Imperial troops. Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

It shouldn’t be that easy, but no—with a new focus P.E.P.P.E.R. tells him it’s true. There’s damage to the computer systems. F.R.I.D.A.Y. is running with minimal resources. The firewalls and security layers are about as useful as tissue paper at the moment. Something went wrong in the power surge from the scramblers. 

The Lieutenant is also scanning Tony now, and Rhodey.

“Nevermind,” he amends as Rhodey starts to say something about sabotage. “I can see all of you are wanted criminals, and of particular interest to the Moff as well.” He nods to his troops, who draw up in a tight ring, weapons at the ready. “You want to see him? Don’t worry.” The Lieutenant smiles. “You’ll get your chance.”

***

They take Tony’s blasters and Rhodey’s rifles. They take the vibroblades and the plasma knives. They take the sparring droids and every last cargo container in the loading bay. They try the airlock, too, but those systems are still intact. Different power source. Small mercies.

“Not to worry,” the Lieutenant says, smiling and victorious. “We’ll get through, one way or another.”

One way, Tony knows, is torture. The idea that one of the three of them will give up the codes if they’re pressed hard enough. The other is assigning some expendable-enough troops to cut through the door. Sufficient expendability is important. Only an idiot doesn’t install failsafes on their own ship.

When every last centimeter of the hold has been inspected, they’re marched onto the Star Destroyer at gunpoint and processed into the ship’s brig. Tony doesn’t resist. Rhodey doesn’t either. They’ve always known the bluff could go this way. It’s happened before. There are contingencies. But pretty much all of them depend on being surrounded by fewer armed guards.

Steve is stiff-shouldered and grim. Tony tries to give him a reassuring nod, but he’s not sure Steve sees it.

The guards take the armors. They take Steve’s shield. They take their boots. They’re pushed through scanner after scanner after scanner, one, two, three, and then Tony feels cuffs snap around his wrists and a cyber suppression collar clamps down on his neck.

It’s an old model. P.E.P.P.E.R. will be able to disable it eventually. He still has his implants, and his cybernetic hand.

And they don’t re-cuff Steve.

Small mercies, Tony reminds himself. They can make all the difference.

He hopes, briefly they’ll all be tossed in one big cell. It’s happened before. But no. They get a single cell each, narrow things barely big enough to sit down in, with force fields instead of physical bars or doors. No sight barriers. Close enough to talk.

No way they’ll be able to help each other directly.

“I’ll make certain Moff Schmidt knows you’re ready for him,” sneers the Lieutenant.

As soon as he’s gone, Rhodey sinks into a crouch. He gives Tony a significant look, and Tony nods. He turns so Rhodey can see his hands and holds up a fist and one finger. A fist and three fingers. At least ten minutes, maybe thirty, and he’ll be able to do something useful. Rhodey hums agreement. When Tony looks again he’s closed his eyes, his lips moving faintly as he puts himself into a light trance.

He’ll be ready whenever Tony is.

Tony shifts to give Steve the same information, but Steve’s not looking. He’s pacing as much as the cell will allow him, just two short steps to a side. He’s _seething_.

Great. Tony sighs and settles in to wait.

P.E.P.P.E.R. is seventy-five-percent of the way through the collar’s lock when Steve speaks.

“Great plan, Iron Man.”

How predictable. Tony rolls his eyes.

“We’re on the ship, aren’t we?”

“In cells. He knows we’re here. He’ll be ready for us. And while we’re stuck here, he’s killing _more_ people on Ando.”

“Yeah, well, that’s a consequence, isn’t it. I told you, there was a trade off. We could have stealth or we could save those civilians. Not both.”

“I still can’t believe you hesitated.”

“I hesitated because I wasn’t sure what _you_ wanted.”

“It shouldn’t be a question of what I want! The Iron Man I used to know would’ve helped those people no matter what. Because he knew that preserving life was always going to be higher priority than a clever stratagem!”

Tony bites back everything he wants to say and closes his eyes. It’s not the time. In another two minutes, maybe three, he’ll have full control over his implants again and he can escape the cell and this conversation. He needs to just—focus on that.

“I know you never put much stock in the Force,” Steve is saying now. So righteous. So sure. “But the part about everything being connected? That part’s real. And you need a connection to something, Tony, something bigger than your ship and a handful of people. It keeps you grounded. Whole. If you keep trying to cut your own path like this, you’re going to get yourself killed, and anyone nearby will die with you.”

Tony frowns. There’s anger boiling up through him, leaking through the cracks in his careful control. The Force. _Connection_. Steve wants to talk about connections?

He snaps, turning to glare at Steve.

“Is this an intervention or another in your series of lectures on how my life choices are clearly inferior?”

“It’s not about the past, it’s about the future—”

“Right, because having a problem connecting with people is definitely why I kept losing friends in the Rebellion. That didn’t have anything to do with making myself a highly visible target, or having known associates who were less protected. It’s definitely my _inability to feel connected_ that leads to me doing extravagant favors for former friends who don’t even miss me. That’s definitely my biggest problem right now.”

He turns his back and tries to focus on more productive things, like mapping every camera and microphone in the room, and estimating the distance between their cells and the door, and drawing a mental map between this room and the last control console they passed, where he might be able to retrieve a ship’s blueprint.

“I do miss you.”

Tony spins on his heel and stares.

“What.”

Steve’s jaw works for a moment. He looks away. Tony has just about given up on getting an answer when he actually speaks.

“I miss you. I miss working with you and I miss—our friendship. Our relationship. I miss you, and I want you to live through this mission, and the next one, and that’s why . . .” he trails off.

For a moment, all Tony can do is stand there and breathe, hyper-aware of his own heartbeat in his ears.

“You told me to leave. You _punched me in the face_. You said we were _done_.”

Steve looks at his hands.

“I know.”

“Don’t you dare tell me you didn’t mean that.”

Steve’s hands tighten into fists, then open again. His expression when he looks at Tony is fierce, but not quite a glare.

“I meant it. You lied to me. You got people killed.”

It’s like a recording stuck in a loop. Has Steve not thought any more about this in the past year? Tony knew he wasn’t listening then but, after so much time, they’re still in this same old place? Rehashing the same argument, about the same people, all of them long dead?

“We couldn’t have saved them. That was the entire point of not telling you. We didn’t have a chance of stopping Rokur Gepta until Clarissian planted the tracker on his ship.”

“You let him launch an untested bioweapon! You let him kill an entire planet while we sat in our base!”

“I didn’t _let_ him do anything! He was doing it without me! I kept the rebellion alive! I kept _you_ alive. He was too far away and too powerful and you would have _died_ , Steve.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do, because I know how you react to these things and you always believe you can save everyone and sometimes, you just can’t.” Tony knows he’s saying too much, too loud and too vehement. They both are. But the rush of blood in his ears is too loud and the he can’t seem to take a full breath. Can’t reach through the pain and the anger to find a calm center. Isn’t sure he still has one. “You think I don’t feel guilty? I feel guilty. But there was no good choice to make. We didn’t have the right tools or the right strategy to save them and Reed agreed with me, _you would have died_.”

“Thousands, millions of civilian lives. An entire planetary ecosystem. My life is not worth more than that, Tony!”

“It is to me. When there’s no chance of success? Is that even a question? All those conversations about recklessness and responsibility we had. Are you going to tell me you would have let me get myself killed, back then? For a cause you knew was already lost?”

He searches Steve’s face. He suddenly, desperately wants to know the answer. It matters. It matters more than he ever thought it could, but he can’t concentrate enough to focus on Steve’s actual expression. He can hardly feel his own limbs anymore, all his senses kicked past overdrive into so much meaningless noise. P.E.P.P.E.R.’s through the cyber suppression collar and he doesn’t even care.

“Well?”

“Tony.” Steve’s looking over his shoulder.

There’s a guard standing on the other side of the force field. Watching them. Weapon raised.

He’s standing too close.

Tony twists his cybernetic hand out of his cuffs and reaches through the force field with it. The feedback sends a jolt straight through him, but he grits his teeth and keeps going. He grabs for the blaster rifle and disarms the man with a quick back and forth jerk.

“What—”

“There’s no problem here,” Steve says. His voice is calm and reasonable and irresistible as the tide. When Tony looks, he sees Steve’s snapped his own cuffs and is holding one hand in front of him, two fingers describing a gentle arc. “Everything is as it should be.”

“There’s no problem here,” the guard repeats. “Everything is as it should be.”

It’s _creepy_ , but Tony can’t let himself be distracted now. The cameras are still working, and any second now a tech is going to look up and see that they both have their hands free and one of them is holding a weapon.

He drops the rifle and presses a quick code into his palm.

The EMP hits like a wookie, but it does its job. It takes down all the force fields, and all the cameras and microphones, and any other sensors in a fifteen foot radius. Including his connection to P.E.P.P.E.R. and most of the better functionality of his cyberhand, but trade-offs, right? Now they’re actually free and that technician will spend a few precious extra minutes trying to diagnose the problem.

He hopes.

“Sleep,” Steve says. The guard slumps to the ground.

“You two done with your little spat?” Rhodey asks, stepping out of his cell. “Can we focus on getting out of here now?”

“We’re done,” Tony tells him. The words burn on his tongue, and he doesn’t look at Steve. Instead he unlocks Rhodey’s cuffs and together they start stripping the trooper of his armor as quickly as they can. When he looks around again, after settling the helmet over Rhodey’s head, Steve’s standing at the door, holding out his hands.

The door trembles. The vibration grows louder, rattling through the floor and up to jar at Tony’s teeth. Then it crumples and slams back, rocketing down the corridor.

Steve’s breathing hard. He draws himself up slowly, deliberate and stiff with determination.

“I could have hacked that,” Tony points out.

“And now you don’t have to.”

“Okay, well, if we can find a functioning console, I can find the Moff.”

“Or the armory, or wherever else they took our stuff,” Rhodey mentions. “This armor is shit, and the gun is worse.”

“We’ll find your things with the Red Skull,” Steve says. Like it’s a fact. “He likes to gloat too much to not keep them nearby. And I can find _him_ without your computer tricks.”

He walks into the corridor like he’s not even trying to hide. Maybe he’s not. He pauses, swiveling on the balls of his feet.

“There,” he says, and takes off running.

Tony and Rhodey follow. Twice, Tony manages to stub a toe and scratch the bottom of his foot on a bolt in a floor panel and an air vent grating. Steve doesn’t seem to have any such problems. At the very least, he doesn’t stumble.

“I don’t like this plan,” Rhodey says as they round a corner into a four-man patrol. Steve doesn’t even slow down, just barrels through them with a series of hits and kicks that sends one into the wall and another to the floor. Tony strikes out with his metal hand and throws the third trooper over his hip. He kneels on the man’s back until he can work his hand into a more-vulnerable joint in the white armor and deliver an incapacitating electric shock.

The fourth trooper goes down to Rhodey’s blaster fire. When Tony looks up, Steve’s already running again.

“We going after him?” Rhodey asks.

Tony groans and picks up a pair of blasters. “Let me grab some boots first.”

They fight through two more patrols and catch up with Steve just shy of the bridge. He’s not using the Force on this door, just typing fiercely at the controls. And he could probably get through just fine, but Tony is faster.

“Can I—”

“Do it,” Steve steps away. His anger is plain on his face, a thunderous, forbidding expression, Tony can hardly look at. He wonders, briefly, if it’s a directed sort of rage or just a general fury at the whole galaxy.

When the door slides open, he doesn’t have to wonder. Ando looms large in the windows, the blue of the water contrasting with the bright fiery orange of orbital missiles and the trailing red of fighter flight paths.

Schmidt _is_ killing people. And this close, on this scale, Steve probably feels every death like a blow.

Steve sees his target before Tony’s done taking in the room—techs and specialists and a few officers, with three, no, five stormtroopers—and he doesn’t grandstand or announce his presence, he just charges in. It takes a few seconds for Tony to realize he’s charging the weapons control stations, not the Red Skull himself, and by then their enemies know something’s happening. One of the black-uniformed specialists is the first to pull out a weapon, and Rhodey is quick to take him down with a well-placed shot.

“Cover Cap,” Tony tells him.

“Already on it,” Rhodey replies, “What are you doing?”

“Getting you a better gun.” And armor, he adds to himself as he scuttles from one scant piece of cover to another, dodging blaster fire and laying down covering fire where he can, heading for the display of trophies in the center of the bridge. He can hold his own without the armor, he’s a good shot, but it makes him so much more useful. It has jetboots and sonic disruptors and blaster-proof plating and even a secondary connection to P.E.P.P.E.R..

Besides, he can hear Schmidt now, with his sneering, dramatic statements as he confronts Steve, and Tony has no desire to challenge a Sith with only his flesh, his brain, and a pair of inferior blaster pistols. The last time he’d tried, he’d lost a hand.

“Stop where you are,” says a familiar voice, and Tony risks a quick glance around the terminal he’s using as cover to find the young Lieutenant from earlier stalking toward him, pistol raised.

“No thanks,” Tony calls back. He takes a shot.

Miss.

“You and your friends have caused quite enough trouble already,” the man continues. “You have to know there’s no possibility you’ll leave this ship alive.”

“You might want to work more on crew discipline,” Tony says. He sets to prying open a side panel on the terminal so he can get at its innards. “A whole bunch of your staff just ran away when the shooting started. Hardly what I’d call strong Imperial backbone.” He reaches into the neatly collected bundles of wires and starts pulling. It’s not a primary console, but it’ll still do _something_. Distraction can only be a help at this point.

“They will be—”

The Lieutenant’s words are drowned out by the sound of wailing klaxons. The overhead lights start flashing red and violet emergency signals. A cool, robotic voice urges the crew to the escape shuttles.

Tony uses the moment of confusion to take another shot. The Lieutenant crumples.

A shuddering, tilting moment sends Tony crashing into the terminal because he’s turned off—ah. He’s disabled the sensor array that covers the main generator. How appropriate. A lot of confusion for minimal actual damage as the subsystems and back-ups try to correct a problem that doesn’t exist. He pushes himself back to his feet and runs for the armor, trying to call it to him despite his half-functional implants.

It reacts sluggishly, but it comes. He meets it halfway, hopping on one foot as he takes of his borrowed boots and rolling behind the display platform to get all the pieces in place.

As the gauntlet cinches down over his left hand, the HUD springs into place, targets and a firing sequence loading straight into his brain. He hits three troopers with sonic blasts before he’s fully on his feet again. Then he grabs Rhodey’s suit by the backplate in one hand and Steve’s shield in the other and turns back to the bulk of the fight.

The bridge is in chaos. Most of the crew is either dead, incapacitated, or has fled the field. The flashing lights and screaming klaxons bathe the space in alternating red and violet, changing the shapes and shadows he can see with his human eyes. But those heat signatures by the navigation controls: that’s Steve and Schmidt, tossing each other into walls and consoles and both of them always bouncing back.

Steve needs an advantage, and Tony’s bringing one. He jumps and activates the jet boots.

“Cap!”

Steve vaults backwards in a series of flips and reaches out out just in time to grab the shield from Tony’s hand.

Not a second too soon. As Tony veers around he sees Schmidt pull something blue and glowing from a pocket. A moment later, lightning arcs toward Steve in a deadly burst.

The holocron.

He doesn’t get a chance to think about it further—F.R.I.D.A.Y. throws a warning up in front of his eyes: attempted security breach, main airlock. Attempted security breach, cargo hold. He swerves midair and heads to where Rhodey is holding out against a back-up squad of stormtroopers.

“Special delivery for War Machine.” He sets down the armor and jets higher to draw the trooper’s fire while Rhodey suits up. If he manages to take a few of them down at the same time, that’s a bonus.

Fully armored, Rhodey joins him. Together they eliminate the rest of the squad.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. sends more warnings. Nothing’s gotten through, yet, but Tony wouldn’t be surprised if they’re getting ready to bring out a plasma torch. Someone out there, possibly several someones, is in a panic about the cruiser’s continued viability.

Which is probably pretty sensible, once Force users start fighting.

“I better go see about our ride home,” Rhodey says, reloading with quick movements. “You coming with or lending Steve a hand?”

Tony looks back to Steve’s fight. The holocron is definitely giving Schmidt an advantage.

“I’m going to try to get that thing away from the Skull,” he says.

“Roger that,” Rhodey nods. “Give him a good hit for me.”

“Will do.” Tony spins in midair and arrows toward the fight. He does his best to keep his eyes on the HUD readouts, not the pair’s actual movements. Steve and Schmidt are faster than he can track with the naked eye, making impossible jumps and executing midair acrobatics that he’s not sure he could replicate even in the armor.

But there are a few seconds where Schmidt slows down. A few seconds where he has to focus on the holocron.

Tony barrels into him and the device goes skidding across the floor. Schmidt lets out a scream that’s more than just noise. There’s enough Force power caught up in it to push Tony back and make his ears ring even inside the helmet. He stands while Tony’s still trying to catch his footing and swipes his arm out in a single violent motion. Tony crashes into the navigation terminal hard enough to make his bones rattle. Beneath him, the panel controls flicker and go dark. A new, higher pitched alarm joins the klaxons.

Tony raises his hands as Schmidt stalks towards him, ready to blast him in his sneering red face. Steve’s shield arrives before he can, slamming into Schmidt’s side.

“I’ve got this,” Steve yells as he follows up the shield hit with a punch to Schmidt’s face. “Get the holocron!”

“You dare,” Schmidt growls, but Tony’s not listening. The holocron is easy to pick out, even half-hidden as it is under a gunnery station’s chair. It spits out energy like nothing he’s ever seen before, and P.E.P.P.E.R.’s spending half her cycles just trying to keep up. He dives for it.

There’s a sensation of pressure. His ears pop. The hull on the other side of the station bends like it’s been wrenched by giant, invisible hand, then buckles with a sudden rush of air.

They’re venting atmosphere. There’s a whole section of the ship that’s torn away from its face, and Tony can no longer hear the alarms over the roaring spill of air.

The holocron’s light enough to get caught up with every other piece of loose debris in the room, and it slides out of Tony’s reach in half a second. He swears and activates the armor’s hermetic seals before jetting after it.

It jerks sideways. It’s not following the vent. Red Skull is calling it to him as he pins Steve to the ground at the other end of the breach, the shield wedged between them. Even as Tony watches Steve tries to buck and flip, like he’s not right on the edge of open vacuum.

One shot. There’s no time for anything else. There are already sparks gathering around Schmidt’s fingertips, ready to arc down straight into Steve’s face.

Tony blasts the holocron, just as it reaches Schmidt’s hand. The Sith roars, rearing back, and Steve jack-knifes, propelling both of them into the main wash of air and debris. Out of the ship.

“ _Steve!_ ”

Tony spirals after them. Even if, by some miracle, Force powers could protect someone from the lack of air and pressure and the unshielded radiation bombardment of open space—and Tony’s pretty sure it can’t—he’s not letting Steve drift out there.

He catches Steve around the waist and drags him back into the ship. The blast doors are closing at the other end of the bridge. The section beyond is probably already sealed off off, preventing the breach from affecting the rest of the ship. In another few seconds, they’ll be trapped on this side without any air to breathe.

Tony diverts more power to the jets and rockets ahead, faster than is really safe or controllable. Through the doors. He just manages to cut power and get himself between Steve and the oncoming wall before they hit.

The blast doors close. Oxygen levels climb steadily. They’re safe, for the moment.

“Ow.” Even with the armor, Tony’s going to have bruises. Mostly over his back and side, but his left knee isn’t too happy with him either.

Beside him, Steve groans and sits up slowly. He stops when he’s about halfway up, propped on his elbows.

“Thanks for the rescue,” he says.

“Sure thing,” Tony crawls over to him, running scans. Steve’s vitals are strong, at least. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Steve grimaces and sits up further. His shield slides to the floor with a faint ringing noise.

They both stare at the bridge doors. There are windows on one side of the corridor. Jagged ship debris floats by, slowly. The fighters have changed course, giving up their barrage of the planet to circle their own base.

“Schmidt’s still out there?” Steve asks.

“Sucked into space.” Tony makes a swooshing motion, then thinks better of it as pain spasms up his shoulder. “The holocron too.”

“Right.”

Steve heaves himself to his feet and offers Tony a hand up.

“Sorry about the holocron,” he says once they’re both steady. “I know you were looking forward to seeing how it worked.”

“It’s fine” Tony waves a—smaller—dismissive gesture. Steve looks at him. “Really,” he adds. “I mean, sure, it’s a priceless artifact of a technology we hardly comprehend the tiniest part of and I’ll probably never be so close to one again in my entire life, but it’s—fine. I’d rather—” _have you_ “know you’re still kicking around. And the galaxy has one less Sith in it. I call it a win.”

Steve nods and looks back out at the planet and the floating wreckage of what used to be the bridge. Messages from F.R.I.D.A.Y. and Rhodey both flash up on the HUD: ship secured.

“Rhodey says the ship’s ready to go, whenever we get there,” he relays. “The stealth drive might even let us get away clean.”

Steve doesn’t respond.

Tony rocks back on his heels. “So. You’ve got some new tricks? I mean, you’ve always been convincing, but that thing with the guard—”

Steve crosses his arms. “Picked it up from a Jedi who spent a few months with us.”

Jedi. Not just some Force-sensitive being with a few party tricks. Yeah.

“And crushing the door? This Jedi teach you that too?”

“No, that one I was just really, really angry.”

Tony bites his lip. Right. Time to back off then. He takes a step to the side and starts to say something like, _I guess we should probably see about getting through this door_ , when Steve speaks again.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For yelling. For—bringing up old arguments. I know you didn’t want anyone to die.”

Tony gives him an incredulous look.

“Seems pretty obvious, but, thanks. I think.”

“I still don’t think it was the right decision,” Steve says, and Tony’s about to interject, _Yeah, that much I know_ , when he continues with, “but I can—respect why you made it.”

Tony mulls that over for a moment. Better than nothing, he decides. Much better.

“Thank you,” he says, more sincerely this time.

“I was hoping—” Steve sighs. “I know we don’t always get along, and we disagree on a lot. But when it works, it works _so_ well. And I really have missed you. A lot. I—want to try again. Try _us_ again.”

 _Yes_ , Tony wants to say. _Yes, absolutely_. The only thing he’s wanted more in the past year is a way to travel backwards in time.

“This wasn’t a date, right?” is what actually comes out of his mouth.

Steve blinks at him, his brow furrowing.

“The mission?” Tony continues, waving at the destruction around them. “With the fighting and the danger and everything? This wasn’t a campaign to win back my heart, right? You would’ve been doing this with or without me? The timing of this conversation just seems . . . suspicious.”

“No,” Steve says slowly, like he’s trying to sense a trap ahead. “This wasn’t a date. A date would be more like dinner. A show. Maybe dancing.”

“Good.” Tony nods. “Because if our relationship got that dysfunctional, I have to say, I think we’d be a lost cause.”

Steve’s mouth twitches in a tentative smile.

“Is that a yes? To trying again?”

Tony takes a deep breath. It feels like the first full breath he’s had in far too long.

“Yeah,” he says. He steps closer to Steve, standing shoulder to shoulder. Out of the armor, their fingers might brush. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

And for a moment, the galaxy feels calm and still around them.


End file.
